


Revenge and redemption are two sides of the same coin

by Apuzzlingprince



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Lots of sexual content, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Prostitution, dub-con, references to rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-08
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-06-07 01:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6780748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apuzzlingprince/pseuds/Apuzzlingprince
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the end of Weirdmageddon, Bill is forced into the body of a human. The Pines family see nothing of him for two to three years, and then, one day, Stanley stumbles upon him in a supermarket. Stanley wants revenge, and Bill’s... letting him. Just what is he playing at?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revenge and redemption are two sides of the same coin

“I’m sure I’m in your memory somewhere.”

Bill hadn’t been kidding when he’d said that. Stanley remembered him. Not as a dream, nor a figure in his peripheral vision. He remembered Bill as a series of wealthy men, all of which had propositioned him for sex him on one occasion or another. In fact, Bill had been the one to introduce him to the concept of sex for money. He had always been paid generously by these men. Or, more likely, Bill simply hadn’t understood the value of money at the time and had given him whatever was in his current vessels wallet.

He associated the memories with humiliation. At nineteen years old his virginity had been roughly, ruthlessly taken by a man well into his forties, and he had yelled and begged and whimpered until payment had been received. ‘William’ – the moniker Bill had chosen to give himself – had thrown him a hefty wad of cash before leaving. The thought of a warm hotel room for the next month had dried his tears.

There were other times William’s and Wilhelm’s and Bilson’s had come to him and he hadn’t cried. He’d begged. He’d begged for their cock, begged to be filled. He’d said awful, self-depreciating things that still made grimace when he thought of them. Worst of all, he’d been hard each and every time, getting off on the pain and humiliation.

The William’s and Wilhelm’s and Bilson’s had never lingered long after the deed. Whatever infatuation Bill’d had with him, it had only extended to the desire for sex.

When Stanley had figured this all out upon reading the last of the journals, he’d been absolutely baffled, unable to comprehend why a dream demon would want to have anything to do with someone like him, especially at that period of his life. But he hadn’t had long to think on it. Following this revelation, his brother had returned and he’d been so consumed by his insecurities and fears that there hadn’t been room for anything else.

Then the armageddon he had been anticipating for thirty years finally happened. 

With Ford’s assistance he had defeated Bill and forced him back into the physical realm, their realm, as little more than a mortal. Thrust into the body of a comatose man, Bill later came to them as a tall, wiry man with thick blonde hair and dark eyes. The first thing he did was try to dispose of Stanley Pines, which was easier said than done when you were malnourished and weak and could barely swing a fist without breaking your wrist. The nursing home responsible for Bill’s new vessel had been quick to subdue him and drag him bck to the room at which he had been kept. Deemed insane by his caretakers, variations of ‘brain dead man comes back but is delusional and crazy!’ had been in the papers for weeks.

It was years before Stanley saw him again, stumbling upon him in a city that was a few hours off Gravity Falls. He hadn’t even thought about him in all the time he’d been out at sea with Ford, fighting giant squids and being wooed by sirens.

Bill stood before him now with dull, bagged eyes and a mouth encircled by weary lines. He wore a tacky blue and white polo shirt with ‘Bill’ slapped upon the breast in capital letters. On the back was the logo of the supermarket he now worked. His black slacks were thoroughly worn. As people slipped into his lane with their groceries, he would offer them a toothy smile that was reminiscent of his old life, but it was clearly forced and fell away as soon as he was alone.

He looked tired and broken and that gave Stanley a vindictive pleasure. After what Bill had done to him and his family, this was what he deserved. He was no longer a fearsome demon who could boast formidable power and strength – he wasn’t even a mortal worth of respect. He was on the lowest rung of society. A man living in poverty, barely scraping by on minimum wage. The great Bill Cipher had been reduced to a man who monotoned ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘yes sir’ throughout the day to the very creatures he had once deemed weak and pathetic.  

Stanley selected a loaf of bread from the shelves and slipped into Bill’s lane, setting it on the conveyor belt. Bill didn’t look at him, busy with the task of running the till as he was. His thin fingers shook minutely as he performed each action. After all this time, it seemed Bill still struggled to control the finer movements of his new body.

The customer in front of him made an exasperated sound. “Can’t you go any quicker?” he demanded, and Stanley had to stifle a snicker by biting down on his bottom lip.

He heard Bill murmur an apology before he handed the man his bagged groceries, along with his receipt. The man tottered off without so much as a thank you.

Bill grabbed for the bread, sliding it over the scanner. “That’ll be two dollars.”

Stanley handed him a fiver. The loaf and change were provided in a plastic bag. Bill lifted to head to speak his obligatory parting words, ‘thank you, have a nice day’, but froze upon seeing Stanley.

Stanley offered him a smile. “See you soon, Bill.” 

He strode out of the store with his loaf of bread and he could almost feel Bill’s eyes watch him every step of the way.

* * *

_The man hadn’t been gentle. He’d grabbed him by the nape of his neck and pressed him into the pillows, burying his cock in to the hilt. Stanley had never felt less like a person than in that moment. He’d wondered what his father would think of him now, face down in a hotel bed, being rammed into by a man who’d approached him on the sidewalk. A handsome man, perhaps, but that made it no less humiliating to be used like a whore, and a gay whore at that._

_Nobody liked gays. They were disgusting and dirty. They were partaking in a sin of the greatest caliber and were rightly ostracized for it. His father’s words had rung in his ears as the man’s pants had crescendoed into a series of obnoxiously loud moans._

_“I’d rather have a dead son than a gay son.”_

_The worst feeling of all had been the sensation of being filled with another man’s seed._

_The man’s chest had briefly curled over his back. His skin had been warm and sweaty. He remembered the smell; salt and musk and faint traces of aftershave. His breath had rolled between Stanley’s shoulder blades until he had recovered enough strength to roll into the opposite side of the bed. It had taken several minutes before his breathing evened out._

_“Not bad for a first timer,” he’d said while giving Stanley’s calf a squeeze.  
_

_Stanley had rolled to face the wall so the man wouldn’t be able to see his tear-rimmed eyes. After several minutes of tense silence, the man stood and started to dress. The money was thrown at him before the man left the room. Despite the pain in his rear, Stanley had scrambled to collect it all, gathering it into shaking fists. A good five hundred dollars. Enough for at least a month of shelter and food.  
_

* * *

He returned to the supermarket a week later. It was late at night and the stream of customers had reduced to a trickle. Bill was standing idly at his till, drumming his fingers on the conveyor belt as he listened to the late night music that played from six until closing time. Stanley strode into the supermarket and selected another loaf of bread. The other one was starting to grow mold.

Just like last time, he slipped into Bill’s lane and set the loaf of bread on the conveyor belt. Bill eyed him as he yanked it over the scanner. His eyes were dull and listless, but followed Stanley’s movements like those of a predator.

“That suits you,” Stanley said with a haughty grin, gesturing to Bill’s uniform.

Disregarding this insult, Bill extended his hand for the money. “That’ll be two dollars, sir.”

“What, no witty comeback?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.

Bill pursed his lips before he responded. “Two dollars, sir,” was all he said.

The hand remained in the air, palm up, waiting. Stanley found the sight of it oddly infuriating. He dug into his coat pocket for a two dollar coin and threw it into Bill’s hand, almost violently. It fell between his long fingers and went skittering across the floor. With a resigned sort of sigh, Bill stooped to pick it up. He then handed Stanley his loaf of bread and receipt.

“Thank you, have a nice day,” Bill said.

Stanley stared at him for a long time. There was no need for him to hurry; he was the only customer in Bill’s lane and one of the few left in the store. The pleasure he’d felt at the sight of Bill the night before was waning. He had Bill’s mannerisms and Bill’s voice, but he didn’t have Bill’s charisma and confidence, and it just didn’t feel good to kick a man who was already down. He wanted Bill to sneer at him, to snarl a retort. He wanted to be the reason Bill felt as small and pathetic as Bill had made him feel.

But Bill regarded him with disinterest, busying himself with the disposal of unwanted receipts.

After several long minutes of silence, he turned and stomped away. The loaf of bread on the counter went forgotten.

* * *

He waited a few more days before he went back, so to not make it seem he was obsessed. He sat outside Bill’s place of work, bathed in the golden light of a distant sunset, and watched Bill through the planes of glass that made up the front of the store. Bill was most active just before the end of his shift, chatting idly with both customers and coworkers. About what, Stanley couldn’t tell, but Bill mouth would open in a laugh on occasion so it had be something amusing.

The street lights came on a little before closing time. He saw Bill abandon his till and slip into a room labelled ‘employee’s only’. A moment later, he stepped outside, still dressed in his uniform but wearing a long alabaster coat. Its hems were worn and there were patches sewn into the elbows; it was clearly something he had brought second hand. It couldn’t have been very thick as he grimaced against a gust of wind and wrapped his arms around himself.

A second person came out of the side entrance. It was a plump woman with thick ginger hair carrying an atrociously bright red handbag. She gave Bill’s elbow a squeeze on her way past him, heading for the car park. Bill didn’t follow because Bill didn’t have a car; he lived in an apartment building that was only a few blocks away, which was very convenient for him. After waving goodbye, Bill started his way down the alleyway that lead to the apartments. Stanley was quick to jump up and pursue. They were almost at the corner of the apartment building by the time Stanley managed to catch up to Bill, grasping him tight around the shoulder. Bill turned to face him with a jerk of his body.

“Well well, if it isn’t Stanley Pines,” he greeted in that unpleasant voice of his.

Stanley stepped up beside him. “You gonna invite me in or what?”

Bill glanced between Stanley and the apartment building. “Been stalking me, have you, Pines?” he asked, unsurprised. He knew what type of person Stanley was. “Might as well come in then. I’m on the sixth floor.”

“Lead the way,” said Stanley.

He ascended the stairs beside Bill, their shoulders brushing every other step. The contact made his guts coil with anticipation. 

This was it. He was finally going to get his revenge. 

The building was as ragged inside as it was outside. Grime had accumulated on the surrounding red brick walls, which were chipped and rough to the touch. There was junk littered across the carpet, beer cans and plastic bags and a stray sneaker; apparently the owner of the building couldn’t afford a cleaner. As they passed doors, Stanley noticed some of the plaques were either missing or beyond repair, so scratched up by their residents that the number was indistinguishable. The place smelt strongly of damp fabric. There must have been a leak somewhere on a higher floor.

This place, as awful as it was, still wasn’t as terrible as the flats Stanley had occupied while fleeing Rico’s gang in New Mexico. These flats had running water. They had doors that locked. That was more than he could say for his old living arrangements.

The sixth floor was no better than the last five. He was almost glad to enter Bill’s apartment, which was much cleaner than the halls beyond it. He didn’t especially enjoy being reminded of his own poverty. Once inside, Bill made a bee-line for a shabby cabinet in a corner, from which he removed an open bottle of gin and some tonic water to distill it with. The apartment was one big room. The kitchen, lounge room, and bedroom all occupied the same space, with only one adjoining room for the bathroom and toilet. It was the most basic of lodgings you could have, but it looked comfortable enough. Bill had painted the main room a vibrant yellow. It was likely the only form of decoration he could afford.

Stanley made himself comfortable on the edge of Bill’s bed, and to his disappointment, Bill didn’t protest him sitting there. He felt more like a visitor than a man intent on enacting revenge. He couldn’t help but frown as Bill extended him a glass of his chosen poison. And just in case it was, in fact, poison, Stanley didn’t drink until he’d seen Bill take a sip.

“So this is where you live now, huh? Not exactly a palace, is it?”

Bill eyes darted to him, gleaming for all of a moment before he smoothed his features into something soft and docile. He gulped down half of the contents of his glass in one swallow. “Better than living in the gutter,” he answered, shrugging. The burn of the gin didn’t seem to bother him nearly as much as it bothered Stan, who grimaced as he swallowed. There wasn’t nearly enough tonic water to make it taste palatable. He liked his liquors, but he didn’t often take them straight.

“You sure about that?” Stanley looked behind himself, at the bed he was seated on. “I mean, the bed kinda looks like a step down from the gutter.”

“It came with the room,” Bill said with another shrug. After finishing his drink, he poured himself another. There was no tonic water in his second glass. “So, are we gonna talk or are we gonna do what you came here for?”

“What, I couldn’t have come here to talk?” 

“No.” Bill laughed and took a large gulp of gin. “I know what you want, Stanley Pines, and I’m more than happy to give it to you.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Give it to me then.”

Bill snorted, setting his glass aside and seating himself next to Stan. He plucked the glass out of Stanley’s hand (which Stanley was secretly grateful for) and put it on the ground, as far away from the bed as possible. He went to push Stanley into the flimsy grey mattress, but Stanley stopped him, grabbing him by the wrists. He wasn’t going to let Bill have the control he so clearly wanted. He wasn’t going to let Bill wrestle this moment – his revenge – out from under him with his old trickery.

“Don’t go gettin’ overeager.” Stanley pressed Bill down onto the floor, onto his knees. “We’re doing this at my pace.”

“What’s that mean? That we’ll never get around to it because of your weak knees?” Stanley could tell Bill was trying to provoke him.

“Means we’ll do it at my pace,” he said wryly. He leaned back on his hands, heaving a great sigh of contentment. Despite its ragged appearance, the bed was quite comfortable. The mattress was thin, but soft, and the quilts weren’t as filthy as he had expected them to be. He spread his legs and Bill obediently shuffled up between them. He had resumed acting the part of a docile partner.

Bill’s slid his warm palms up Stanley’s thighs. “And what’s your pace?”

“Uh…” It was harder to think with Bill’s fingers teasing at his trouser button. “Blow job,” he said quickly, wanting it to seem like his idea rather than Bill’s.

Bill happily obliged, unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers, pulling out his arousal. His mouth was upon it within seconds and Stanley let out a startled little moan, his fingers twisting into Bill’s bed sheets. It’d been a long time since he’d been intimate with anyone. In fact, Bill had been the last one he’d been intimate with.

He tried not to dwell on that thought.

Stanley wasn’t going to last long. The combination of his age and inexperience would make sure of that. He still tried to hold on for as long as possible, panting hard and guiding Bill to wrap a hand around the base of his cock, preventing an early release. Bill’s tongue was so soft and warm. It lapped over the leathery head of his cock, leaving a slick trail of saliva that made the reddened skin gleam in the light.

“Jesus Christ,” he breathed. “Wish you’d done this when I could appreciate it more.”

When they had fucked in the past there had been little consideration for Stanley’s pleasure. Bill had often assumed – and he was right, Stanley wouldn’t deny that – that Stanley could get himself off. There had been plenty of times where Stanley had climaxed either before or with Bill, but when he hadn’t, he’d been left achingly hard.

Bill gave him a devious little smile before he took Stanley into his mouth, right down to the hilt, and sucked hard. It was impossible for Stanley not to finish. He jerked his hips, letting out a cry as he released into Bill’s throat. He could feel the man obediently swallowing down his seed and the added pressure made him feel as though he were going to pass out. Thankfully, he didn’t. He managed to jerk Bill back by a handful of hair despite the shudders wracking his body. The man didn’t seem to mind the manhandling in the least, even going as far as to nuzzle his palm. It might have made for an unsatisfactory revenge if he hadn’t been rendered so relaxed by his orgasm.

Bill made a show of licking his lips and dropping back on his hunches. His face had, once again, become an expressionless mask. Stanley tried not to let that bother him, slowly reaching down to tuck himself back into his trousers and zip himself up.

A tense silence followed. Neither of them attempted to fill it with conversation. He decided to busy himself with his shirt, which had become entangled in his zipper after he had yanked it up without watching what he was doing. He’d been too busy keeping an eye on Bill. When he resumed doing just that, he saw Bill stand and retrieve his drink. It was sipped at until the glass was empty, and then Bill – noticeably less confident on his feet – swaggered back over to the bed and sat down so close to Stanley that they were thigh to thigh. The warmth he radiated breached the thin material of Stanley’s slacks, making him feel – vulnerable, somehow, as though this were more intimate than a blow job.

“Same time next week,” he said, his voice uncharacteristically subdued.

“Fine with me,” Bill replied.

Glancing at Bill’s face, Stan saw that it was red from his nose to the tips of his ears. His eyelids were drooping. The warmth the alcohol provided seemed to be lulling him towards sleep. This was far from the comeuppance he had envisioned for Bill, but Stanley would gain no pleasure from pushing a man who could barely stand into the pillows and taking him rough and hard until he begged for forgiveness; it wouldn’t be genuine enough for it to be cathartic. For the time being, he would let Bill rest.

He stood from the bed and exited the apartment without preamble.

* * *

_The first time he had begged for another man’s cock, Stanley had been twenty one years old. In fact, the event had taken place not long after that particular birthday and as a direct result of sparing what little money he had on a burger to treat himself. The burger hadn’t taken more than a few minutes to shovel down, but he had remained in the fast food joint to escape the winter chill, tucked away in a corner to evade eviction by the staff. It hadn’t taken him long to start to doze, and then a man had slipped into the chair across from him, startling him awake. He hadn’t been happy about that, he recalled. His first instinct had been to lift his head and tell the man to fuck off, but those words had died on his lips when his mind had registered just what he was looking at: a man with shoulder-length platinum blonde hair and striking blue eyes, wearing the most luxurious clothes Stanley had ever seen. A long black coat with green buttons and green trimmings around the collar; black leather gloves; a beautiful emerald scarf with intricate patterns sewn into every inch of it. Everything on him had to have been tailor made, not the ready-made crap that had taken over the rest of America. Above all else, the man had been incredibly handsome, bearing the sort of face one might associate with Hollywood or modelling._

_Stanley must have looked quite stupid, sitting there with his jaw slack and eyes wide._

_“Having a nice evening?” the man had asked in a deep, regal voice. It’d had an undercurrent of superiority that Stanley found slightly off-putting._

_“U-uh, yeah, I guess,” had been his stuttered response. He’d been unsure of how to conduct himself. It wasn’t every day that someone rich and powerful lowered themselves to conversing with gutter trash._

_The man had smiled broadly, showing off rows of perfect white teeth. “You guess? Well, I think I can improve that answer!”_

_Through murmured promises of money and pleasure, he had soon found himself in the man’s car, spread across the back seat. It was such a beautiful car that – fleetingly – Stanley had been worried about damaging the fine leather seats, and told its owner as much as they leant down to bite Stanley’s neck._

_“Don’t worry about it,” he’d whispered into the reddened flesh he had just ravished._

_What had followed was a request for begging. “Do it like a virgin,” the man had said. “Like you’ve never done this before. Do it like you’re afraid”. It hadn’t been a difficult part to play as he was both intimidated by the man and inexperienced. He hadn’t needed to feign his stutters._

_“I-I want your cock, I want it inside me,” had been his first feeble attempt at obliging the mans request. If not for the promise of several hundreds of dollars, he never would have debased himself like this. But he was tired of sleeping on the streets, tired of being cold and hungry and miserable. He’d desperately wanted the simple pleasure of shelter and food, if only for a little while._

_The begging had become easier after the first half and hour. After a full hour, the words were spilling out with ease, propelled forth by the engorged cock thrusting in and out of him. ‘Oh god oh god, that feels so good, you’re so fucking big, please-!’_

_They were words he would later regret, even with crisp hundred dollar notes tucked away in his back pocket._

* * *

On the date of their next encounter, Stanley found Bill’s apartment door unlocked. He let himself in and was greeted by a trail of clothes, all worn and but surprisingly clean, leading up to the bathroom. The sound of falling water was audible through the thin wooden door. As he moved closer, he was able to hear Bill humming a foreign tune, something otherworldly and vaguely unpleasant. No surprise there. Though Bill was now wholly human, his voice maintained a slight echoing quality.

With no regard for Bill’s privacy, he entered the bathroom. It hadn’t been locked. Upon close inspection he realized it didn’t even have a lock. Not much of a bathroom, then, was it? Bill pulled aside the curtain as Stanley entered, his eyes wide with panic before he identified his intruder. Stanley offered him a wide smile, and as though he wasn’t even there, Bill let the curtain fall back into place, resuming his shower. He didn’t, however, continue to hum. Stanley took some pleasure in that.

He took a moment to examine the bathroom. He hadn’t seen it the last time he’d been here. Like the rest of the apartment, it was relatively clean. The bottom shelf of a medicine cabinet had cleaning products shoved haphazardly into it, as well as a small pile of cloth. There weren’t any medicines in there. Bill probably couldn’t afford them. There were instead two tubes of toothpaste, a toothbrush, a comb, a packet of razors, and a can of shaving cream. Basic necessities. All of them were the cheapest brand available. Stanley would know, having subsisted on the cheapest brands of everything for most of his life.

He stepped past the cabinet and sat down on the seat of a small, yellowing toilet. It looked so old he was surprised it withstood his weight.

“Stay in there for a bit,” he told Bill, leaning down to untie his shoes. “I could use a shower too.”

“But I’m getting pruny,” Bill complained.

Stanley laughed. “You’ll survive.”

He pulled off his shoes and socks and then stood to remove his trousers. Next was the blue dress shirt and sweater vest Stanford had insisted he wear that day. Leaving his clothes in a messy pile on the floor, he stepped into the shower and beneath the warm spray of water, closing his eyes as it rushed over his face. Bill had to squish himself into a corner to make room for his broad-shouldered body.

Stanley had always liked showers. Found them refreshing and rejuvenating. No matter how dirty you became, a shower could wash it all away, all the dirt and filth and shame. And after a shower people were more inclined to treat you like a human being.

But he wasn’t here to reflect on how much he enjoyed showers. His reason for being here was currently braced against the wall, his thighs and ass warm against Stanley’s belly. His perfect, unblemished skin rubbing against Stanley’s own made Stanley’s arousal jump to attention. He knew the shower was small, but that seemed awful close.

“Bill, wha…” When he opened his eyes, his face immediately began to warm. Bill’s was leaning an arm against the wall, his back curved and his ass in the air, pressing up against Stanley’s crotch. One of his hands was clawed into the flesh of a buttock, pulling it aside to unveil a perfect pink ring that was open and awaiting his entrance. Bill had prepared himself for him. It looked like he’d done a thorough job of it, too, leaving himself loose enough that Stanley wouldn’t need to use lubrication. When Stanley swallowed, the saliva in his throat felt so thick that he almost choked on it. It was a struggle to resist the urge to go right ahead and do what Bill was expecting of him. He knew it would be indefinitely more humiliating if he rejected Bill, turning away this obscene display with an exclamation of disgust. 

It was a long time before he managed to croak out, “You’re tryin’ to manipulate me. I know you are.”

“Does that matter?” Bill asked, a smile in his voice. “I’m ready and willing for you. I want your cock in my ass. I want you to fuck me.”

“You’re manipulating me,” he repeated. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the sight before him, from that perfect pink ring of flesh, so soft and inviting. He knew it would feel amazing clenched around his cock. “You’re…” It was getting harder to speak. “You’re supposed to hate this.”

“What makes you think I don’t?”

That startled Stanley. It made his arousal flag, and he wasn’t sure why. He _wanted_ Bill to hate this. He wanted him to hate it in the same way Stanley had hated it, and then feel so good during the deed that he begged for more. He wanted Bill to feel dirty and humiliated and used. This was revenge for everything Bill had put him through. He should have enjoyed the idea that Bill was loathing every minute he had to debase himself for Stanley’s pleasure.

But he didn’t.  

“Why don’t you fight back?” he asked. He wasn’t able to keep a note of bewilderment out of his voice.

“What’s the point?” Bill replied. “It’s going to happen whether I like it or not, isn’t it? I don’t have my powers anymore. I can’t fight you.”

Stanley felt sick. He tore his eyes away, inhaling unsteadily. There was a sudden, vicious disgust at himself, at what he had wanted to do to Bill, and he stumbled backwards in an effort to escape the shower. He wasn’t fast enough to stop Bill from standing upright and grasping him by the forearm. His grip wasn’t strong. It was surprisingly gentle, encircling his wrist with the tenderness most would reserve for children.

Then again, in Bill’s eyes, that might be exactly what he was.

“Don’t have it in you, do you Stanley?” Bill’s dark eyes bore into him. “I didn’t think you would.”

“S-so what?” he snarled back. “I got a blow job outta you. That’s enough.”

“No it isn’t.” He was surprised to fin ~~d~~ Bill’s hands on either side of his face, cupping his cheeks. Warm lips brushed over his own. “You need to fuck me, Stanley. Hurt me. I deserve it.”

“But you- I thought…“

“I don’t _want_ to enjoy myself. I just want you to do it. Get it over with.”

Stanley’s mind was reeling. What was Bill trying to do? Use reverse-psychology on him? Maybe this had been a trap and he’d sprung it the moment he had expressed reservations with the idea of fucking Bill. But if that was the case, he found it all too easy to jerk himself out of Bill’s grip and slip out the shower, grappling for a towel to wrap around his waist. Bill didn’t follow him. He heard him step back under the shower head, remaining there as Stanley hastily dried, dressed, and fled the apartment.

* * *

Stanley only felt safe enough now to observe Bill from afar. There was a bench directly across from supermarket at which Bill worked, and Stanley occupied it from noon until late evening. Very few people joined him on the bench. Those waiting for the bus generally stood by the sign to ensure they wouldn’t miss the vehicle, which had the tendency to rush past a stop if there was no one prostrating themselves on the footpath.  

Bill went about his daily life with his usual lack of enthusiasm, extending rehearsed lines of ‘good evening’ and ‘have a nice day’ to every customer that entered his lane. There was little to note about his behaviour until the lull that arrived at night. To his surprise, he was approached by a young man with ginger hair and a hooked nose who immediately began talking animatedly to him. Even more surprising, Bill was talking back, grinning as he did. The two appeared to be friends. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen Bill converse with a co-worker, but the way he laughed and smiled and elbowed his companion in the side, it was so _human_. He was even more surprised when a girl joined them – clearly the partner of the man, who leaned down to press a kiss into her messy head of auburn hair – and handed Bill a slip of paper, which he examined briefly before slipping it into a back pocket.

Stanley had to know what was on that slip of paper. Considering it was now closing time, he wouldn’t have long to wait to find out. The lights were shut off shortly after the girl and man made their departure. Stanley stood from the bench and approached the exit to wait for Bill, who he could see crossing the store to lock the front doors and give the aisles a cursory glance for any lingering customers. He was upon Bill the moment he stepped outside, grabbing him by the front of his tacky polo shirt and reaching into his back pocket. Bill didn’t even protest. He merely arched an eyebrow, watching Stanley as he brought the slip of paper up to his eyes. In the dark of the street he could just barely make out what was written there.

‘Her third birthday is on Saturday, noon, and should only be about an hour. Thank you so much for coming to keep an eye on the children! They absolutely love you, you know! See you then, Bill.’

He re-read the note, and then read it again, trying to find an ulterior motive in the words. He couldn’t. It just looked like scribbled instructions to a child’s birthday party, at which Bill was apparently to be a responsible adult, supervising the toddlers that would be present. The thought of Bill Cipher being a responsible adult was ludicrous.

“What the heck’m I looking at?” He looked to Bill for answers.

Leaning over to examine the piece of paper, Bill answered him with a wry, “I know you had a pretty mediocre high school education, but I think you can manage to read four sentences.”

Stanley scowled at him. “I mean, why’re they inviting someone like _you_ to a kid’s birthday party?”

“Ouch.” Bill plucked the note out of Stanley’s fingers and returned it to his pocket. “Why shouldn’t they invite me to a kid’s birthday party? I’m a nice guy.”

“You’re a demon.”

“In bed, maybe.” He winked at Stanley. “I haven’t been a real demon in – how long has it been? Two years? Three?”

Stanley raised an accusing finger at Bill, prodding him in the chest. “You’re lying. You’re up to something.”

“Between surviving and attending the birthday parties of three year olds, I don’t have much time for concocting devious plans to take over the world.”

Stanley withdrew his finger, but didn’t look pacified in the slightest. “Who were those people you were talking to? Worshipers?”

“Friends.”

“You don’t make friends with humans, Cipher. You use them until they’re useless and then you throw them away.”

Bill paused. Turning to lock to the door he’d come through, he mumbled, “I’m human now as well.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Stanley snapped, his temper rising. A shake was developing in his hands, which had curled into fists on their own volition. “You’ve been alive for billions of years and you spent all that time killing and manipulating and hurting – why should I believe you’ve changed in a _two years_?”

“You don’t have to,” said Bill, shrugging. He pocketed the store keys and glanced longingly at his apartment building. “But those people? The lady and the man? I was living on the street and they got me this job.” Another shrug. “I’m not gonna tell you I’m a saint now, but I’ve had to adjust. And I might not have – I might’ve died if they hadn’t helped me.”

“You…” The words ‘you’re lying’ died on his lips. He was finding it harder and harder to deny the things Bill was telling him.

“Look, Stanley,” Bill began with a sigh. He reached for Stanley, but Stanley jolted out of the way, eyeing him warily. Bill didn’t try to reach for him again. “You don’t have to believe me,” he continued, folding his arms over his chest. “You can even be angry if you want to. You can punish me. I really don’t mind.”

“…It almost sounds like you _want_ to be punished.”                      

“I don’t. No one _wants_ to be punished. But I’d deserve it, I’m not gonna argue that.” Bill had started to shiver in the evening chill. The sight of it shook Stanley’s composure, because Bill had never shivered while in triangular form. Bill had been impervious to the cold. The Bill that existed within his memories, a blight among the memories of his brother and niece and nephew, was completely incongruous with the man who stood before him now.

Stanley schooled his expression. He didn’t want Bill to know that slowly but surely, he was persuading Stanley of his change of heart.

“Dipper still has nightmares because of you.” He wanted to see how Bill responded to this information.

To his surprise, Bill turned his head away so fast it was as if he had been slapped. “Let’s go back to my apartment,” he said. His voice was steady, betraying no guilt. Admitting fault seemed to be a struggle enough as it was without bringing the twelve year old he’d abused into the conversation.

“Why?” he asked, glancing down the street that led to Bill’s lodgings.

“You don’t have to,” Bill said quickly. “I just thought it’d be more comfortable to talk there.”

“Only talk…?”

“It’s up to you. You can consider me along for the ride.”

As dark and cold and as shabby as Bill’s apartment was, the thought of being indoors was an appealing one. His only protection from the night time chill was a thin short-sleeved t-shirt and jeans. There were goosebumps rising on his forearms. He hadn’t thought to bring a jacket. Truth be told, he hadn’t intended to watch Bill go about his day for more than an hour. So much for that plan.

He could go back to where he and Stanford were staying if he wanted to. The walk was only twenty minutes and the streetlights would illuminate his path. He rubbed his hands together, his fingers cold and stiff, and contemplated the street again.

“Alright,” he eventually decided, starting a brisk walk toward shelter and warmth. “But we’re doin’ things at my pace. Got that?”

“Of course,” said Bill, running to catch up with him.

It was hard to decide if the warmth of the apartment was worth the awkward silence that ensued once they were inside. Bill had, once again, poured himself a drink, sipping it as he perched himself on the edge of his bed. Meanwhile, Stanley had chosen to occupy the kitchen table. A drink had been offered to him, but he had refused; he wanted to be sober for the rest of their conversation if they ever got around to continuing it.

His mind had just started to wander when Bill walked over and dropped himself into Stanley’s lap. A yelp was pushed out of him by the sudden weight (not that Bill was particularly heavy, being as lithe as he was). Forearms wound around his shoulders, palms resting on the nape of his neck, playing with what little hair was there. Warm lips were the next thing to arrive, pressing to his own with all the gentleness and feeling of a lover.  He hesitated. And then he kissed back.

“You’re consenting, right?” he asked in a whisper. “You don’t hate this, right?”

“I don’t hate this.”

“But just a few days ago-”

“You were treating it like something I _should_ hate,” he told him, his voice firm. “But you aren’t now.”

They transitioned to the bed after a few hot, fumbling kissed, ripping off each others clothes while they clambered onto the squeaky mattress. There was some biting, groping, tweaking of sensitive bits – one of Bill’s hands left a palm mark on his right buttock. When they had finally become sprawled out over the bed covers, Stanley on top, he groped around in the bedside table for something that would ease the way and was stopped by Bill, who guided Stanley’s hand back down to his entrance.

“Just do it,” he panted, his breath hot on Stanley’s collarbone. “Please. _Please_.”

He obliged, shoving two fingers inside and twisting. Bill’s breath hitched in the most delectable way. He threw himself down on Stanley’s fingers, ruthlessly fucking himself on them, taking in as much as possible and wailing like one of the lost. As he did this he held Stanley like an anchor, arms coiled around his back, finger clawing into the skin. Stanley pressed a kiss to Bill’s cheek and he could have sworn he heard the man sob.

Their bodies became slick with sweat. Bill was as hot as a furnace and shivering like a leaf in flames as the fingers were replaced by his cock. The wails – both pleasure and pained – continued to rip out of his throat when he settled into a rhythm, thrusting in and out at a punishing pace, encouraged by Bill bouncing needily on his hips. It was hard to hold on, hard not to come right then and there, but everything about Bill, from his reddened skin to his delightful little sounds, made it clear he needed this to last.

He lavished attention on Bill. Pressed hot kisses to his neck, bit at the sharp edge of a collarbone, tweaked his pretty pink nipples. For all the awful things Cipher had done to him and his family, he didn’t want him to hurt. He wanted Bill to feel good. Bill needed a lesson in how to properly pleasure a partner because Stanley knew this wouldn’t be the last time they were intimate. He would make sure of that.

He rolled them over, allowing Bill to sit in his lap. His hands gripped at Bill’s waist to steady him while the man ground down onto his cock. He could hardly breathe. He could hardly think. Every ounce of effort was being put into making this last for Bill, and with the friction and the heat that was an exponentially difficult task. He was starting to shake almost as hard as Bill, sweat sliding down from his forehead and dripping off his chin. His fringe was plastered to his skin. Licking his lips, they tasted strongly of salt.  

“B-Bill, Christ, I- I can’t-“

He felt Bill’s mouth upon his hair, an open mouth kissed being pressed to his scalp. “Go ahead,” he whispered.

So Stanley did, fingers tightening around Bill’s hips as he gave one last great thrust that had Bill screaming a mantra of ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’.

They lay in bed together after, side by side. Bill had attached himself to Stanley’s waist, limbs coiled around as much of Stanley as he could reach. It was like having a viper for a bed mate. Neither of them were asleep, but neither spoke. They were enjoying the quiet of the evening and the warmth of the bed sheets. 

Stanford would be worried if he didn’t returned before midnight, but he was sure Ford could withstand one night of sitting up and worrying about Stanley’s well-being. Stanley had, after all, spent thirty years doing exactly that.

* * *

_It was humiliating how fast he got accustomed to selling his body. After a months time and two customers, he had started to regard it as a potential source of income rather than something to resort to in emergencies. Three years on he had few to no reservations about selling his body. It didn’t even bother him that it was always men who propositioned him. It was the men who had the most money to give him, anyway; women couldn’t have been nearly as generous._

_It was strange, though, that the only people who expressed interest in him were wealthy enough to pay him double what any other prostitute was getting. After a payday as big as theirs usually was he could spare a month or two before he needed to sell his body again.  
_

_On more than one occasion potential johns had collapsed before they could discuss terms and payment, and fearful of being blamed for their condition, he had fled. That had stopped him from seeking out less wealthy customers. He let them come to him instead, because none of the ones that came to him without prompting ever collapsed._

_He didn’t mind being restricted to wealthy men. The less he sold his body, the better, even if it meant he would never have enough customers and consequently enough money to start a new business venture._

* * *

Stanley opened his eyes. He was sweating like mad, most of it having accumulated on his forehead. Bill was hovering over him, watching him as he took short, heaving breaths, and Stanley realized he must have been shaken awake because a hand was wound tight around his forearm. He always had been difficult to rouse from nightmares, even if he was a light sleeper.

It took a full minute for his breathing to slow. As it did, exhaustion settled into his skin, seeping into his bones. He wasn’t tired, but he wished he could have gone back to sleep. He always felt awful after being forced awake by a nightmare.

“Bad dreams?” Bill asked, moving to lie back down beside him. Stanley found the warm weight that settled over on his torso a comfort.

“Yeah,” was all he said.

Bill’s forehead was nuzzled into his cheek. “Were they about me?”

“How’d you know?”

“Educate guess,” answered Bill. “Going to take more than a fuck for you to forgive me, hm?”

“Didn’t think you needed my forgiveness,” Stanley answered, turning his sweaty face into Bill’s equally as sweaty hair. It was such a mess, sticking out in all directions. This was the first time Stanley had seen Bill so disheveled.

“I don’t not need it,” murmured Bill.

“Good, because I don’t forgive you.”

Bill paused. He didn’t look happy. “You don’t have to.”

“M’not done,” Stanley said quickly. “I don’t forgive you, but you can always persuade me.”

“With sex?”

“Nah.” Stanley closed his eyes, rubbing his knuckles into the sockets. They were sore and sticky. “Not that’d I’d mind sex, but I was thinkin’, I dunno… somethin’ different…” He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling very awkward, and boy, was it getting hotter in the room or was it just him? His cheeks felt like eggs being fried in a pan. “Maybe a coffee or somethin’? If you ever get time off work.”

“We just had sex. Are you really getting flustered over asking me out on a date?”

“S’not a date,” Stanley protested, but it was a feeble effort. “I’m just asking you out for coffee. Which you’re paying for, by the way.”

Bill laughed. “If I’m paying, I’m making it. I got given a coffee maker and beans for my last birthday.”

“Holy shit,” breathed Stanley. He turned to Bill with wide eyes. “You celebrate your birthday now?”

“Once a year, every year. It’s a novel experience!”

“You really _are_ human, aren’t you.”

“What gave it away? The human body? A human job? The fact I have to pee from a flesh tube now?”

Stanley elbowed him. “’Flesh tube’. I take it back.”

“No take-backs.”

“Whatever, Pinocchio.” Stanley smiled, feeling quite clever. “We’re goin’ for a coffee this weekend. Twelve o’clock. Stanford ain’t gonna like it, so-“ his smiled dropped into a straight line, lips pressed tight together. “I’m only givin’ you one chance, and you’re gonna need his approval too. You got that? If you want a happy ending, you’re gonna have to work for it.”

Bill’s answer was resolute and sincere, “I will.” And as Bill was cuddled up to his side, carding his fingers through Stanley’s thick grey hair, Stanley was inclined to believe him.


End file.
